Hungover Mom

Is it okay to stay up late and drink too much if it’s with other pre-school parents? That’s my excuse. Vivien’s school had their annual fundraiser, and I lucked out.  I liked my dress, and I liked the people at my table.

The theme was “Mad Me,” and I bought this dress for $22 at a secondhand store. I grabbed five and tried them on fast, and Rex was with me in his stroller. The dressing room was tiny so I kept having to open the door just enough to say, “I’m here Rex.” He was pretty mellow, but you never know when they can explode.

I put up my hair, pinned with 5,600 hair pins, and MP slicked his hair back. Let’s drink. The food at the event was not good.

“What is that?” Mark kept asking pointing to various side mounds on the plate. As the event rolled down one dad said, “Are you going to the Tar Pit? We would go.” Great idea.

Next thing I knew there were 14 of us there. The pickled deviled egg hit the spot. At one point, the art teacher was there thanking me. That’s when I realized he thought I was picking up the drinks.

Fortunately enough people knew otherwise so it was all good. I haven’t closed down a place in, um, let me think… that was so many anecdotes ago I don’t remember.

When I got home, Rex had woken up. I tried to soothe him, but finally was like, “Dude, get in the pack and play and cry it out because I may pass out.” He showed me though. He still woke up at bright and early like normal.

As I staggered pushing the stroller this morning, my legs feeling like clay, my mouth like a desert as Vivien asked me little kid questions like, “Why is the sky blue?”, I thought:

Mother hood and hangovers are a bad combination.

Sex or Sleep?

Oh, seriously I do like sex.  I really do.  But, when I was single  I usually chose sleep instead as well.  Well, there were a few times where I sparked with some hottie, spent hours talking into the early morning hours before we finally made the beast with a naked back..or whatever that expression is.  I would be a bit fried the next as I boarded a plane or staggered into work, but no biggie because I knew at some point I could nap, order delivery and sit in my nightgown watching “Melrose Place”.  Ah, the 90’s… But there were plenty of times where I was like, ah, I gotta go back to my place and snooze.  Let’s pick this up another night. Once I became jaded enough to realize that fun, new sex feeling would still be there a day later or it might make me realize, Yuck, I so don’t want to wake up next to this creep.

But, as we know there is little chance of a nap so save your survey dollars. Most woman will agree with me. Especially if they are like me and being woken up every 2 hours by a newborn.

Just Say No… to Playdates!

Once again, my big sis Carole is helping me out with blogging, since she can’t help with nursing. And what is the deal with playdates? Where did the name come from?

Book! Gorilla! Gorilla Book!
Creative Commons License photo credit: Kelly Sue

Playdates (is it officially one word or two?) came up while Daphne and I were enjoying our annual Monday night “Mom’s Out” cocktail. (We’ve done it once, but it could be a trend.)

It seems that Vivien’s dance card is packed with playdates; the phone rings off the hook with playdate requests.

This reminds me so much of what happened when my son Charlie was Vivien’s age. I was running myself ragged going here and there and everywhere on playdates that took too much of our time.  Playdating is no
different than “grown-up ” dating (except for the chaperons). You cannot say “YES” to everyone, nor should you.  Of course, it is beneficial for your child to have social interaction with children, but once they are in pre-school, it is built in– and sometimes I wondered who the playdates were for…. the child or the parent?

Playdates, like everything else should be done in moderation. Now that my son is 11, I suggest that all playdates take place right after school in the park (neutral territory)  and as I reassured Daphne– it really is OK
to just say no to a playdate.

Potluck

It suddenly occurred to me that I am really pregnant.  I think a second shower would be excessive, especially as many are feeling the economic pinch.  Also, I can’t see how I could pay for the kind of big party I would like to throw for my soon-to-be born son.

So, I took a cue from my neighbor Cara, and I am throwing a potluck.  I’m calling it an “He’s almost here!” party.  We are doing cocktails, which will also be fun for my husband, as he is soon opening an artisan-style cocktail bar (pre-prohibition; no crappy sweet and sour mix).  I asked people to bring a dish or a bottle of wine.  So far, the response has been great.

Mark felt a little funny about it, having a potluck when he is a chef, but I talked him into it.  1) Cara just did a potluck that was fun and didn’t feel like a crappy church social and 2) I explained that given our budget, the only alternative would be 6 people and a pizza. And which 6 would you choose?

Cara gave me some good pot luck tips:

1) Have extra serving tools. She says she didn’t have enough last time.

2) If you know what people are bringing beforehand, make up cards or labels. Having a sign that says, “Mary’s Veggie Lasagna” will look a bit more polished.

3) When people come in, slap a sticky on their pan. Cara said that after her last party, she spent 4 days calling people saying, “Did you leave a rectangular Pyrex pan?” I mean who hasn’t?

4) If you are planning ahead (which I am not; my guest got a crude Evite and less than two weeks notice), you can stick a note on each invite like “Bring Appetizer” or for your good-cook friends, “Bring Main”.

Now, what to wear…

Married Sex vs. Single Sex

I don’t want to say there is no spanky fun going on here, but if anyone post child is still hitting it like they did pre child, please tell me your secret. What I really like now is hotel sex.

I need the psychological break from the surroundings where I am a MOM. Even a cheap motel can do the trick for feeling all good and slutty within the context of a committed relationship.

Even Fun Makes Me Tired

Here is Vivien in a dress that hasn’t been worn since the ’60s, as we were walking to dinner in Chelsea last Friday night. My brother-in-law Mark’s sister was in some kiddie beauty pageants and would get dresses as prizes. One dress was presented to her by none other than the girl who played Buffy on “Family Affair.”

Vivien in NYC

When I go to NYC, I always love it. The excitement, the energy… to a point. I have about 6 or 8 friends I really like to see out there, so even trying to see a few of them takes up some time and it’s stimulating catching up. Plus, I am often doing press for whatever TV show I’m on at the time–which is fun. This trip, most of my press calls were for Cool Mom. Also, I usually do a 48-hour child-free trip… yeah, I’m free and not gone so long I feel guilty.

This trip, I had 36 hours solo and then Mark and Vivien arrived. By the third night, I started to slow down. Mark went bar hopping with friends as Vivien and I met up with a friend at a nice restaurant, walking distance from where we were staying. (Sidebar: instead of a crazy-expensive hotel room we were lucky to be in a two bedroom apartment in Chelsea of friends who were out of town. The best.)

As we walked to dinner, Vivien said, “Mommy,” pointing to the sidewalk, “This is dirty.” I’m sure she was wondering, “When is the clean-up time?”

Um, that was Giuliani, I guess, and he only got so much done. I still saw not one but two gentlemen brazenly peeing on the street. And mind you, not homeless guys with shopping carts, but people who probably had an option.

Sadly, I figured out why I am still dragging even now that we have been back home for a bit. 1) I’m not a spring chicken and 2) I have to exercise. It does help my energy level. But if I don’t do it before 9 am, forget it. I like the recreational exercise of being home, not that constant walking-in-shoes-that-hurt NYC thing. It makes me so tired.